


alla prima

by bodysong



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-03-24 11:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13809840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodysong/pseuds/bodysong
Summary: "I'd like to draw you again today," Yusuke says in earnest, wishing he had some kind of pen and napkin to draw on, fixating on the crumpled figure beside him – just the snake of his spine, arms outstretched, legs withdrawing behind the stool's own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i was going to make this 2/2 but it'll be 3/3 to break it up more evenly lol. rating will go up by 3/3 keep your eyes peeled...

Ryuji does not fare well with one-hour painting studies. 

 

His newsprint pad is already full of too many thirty-second and two-minute gestures of him, bending and contorting in ways many volunteer student models lacked the finesse to achieve.  Yusuke doesn't have much of anything to bribe him with, and their sessions only seem to continue out of Ryuji's goodwill.  It's only fair that he be allowed to protest. 

 

"My back hurts," Ryuji groans, though there isn't any hint of contempt in his complaint.  Curving and twisting his figure made for better studies, and the hard lines and angles of Ryuji's body were much more beneficial towards his education.  Ryuji stands in his dorm, in little else but his brightly-coloured underwear, and stretches one arm behind his head – much like how he'd seen Ryuji stretch before a workout. 

 

"Please allow me your patience..." Yusuke says absently, while maintaining his focus on filling in forms he had previously mapped.  The muscles of Ryuji's back are not prominent, especially with the way his flesh squeezes together for this particular pose.  His spine dips inward while his lower half juts outward, though with Ryuji not being fully naked, he can only guess what his relaxed lower half must look like.  Yusuke tries not to worry about it too much.  His torso was the focus of this study. 

 

With a heavy sigh, Ryuji steadies his body's withering posture.  "Are you gonna treat me after this?" 

 

"I do not possess the sufficient funds," Yusuke replies easily.  He supposes he needs to return some kind of favour, taking up Ryuji's time and effort like this. 

 

"Man, I don't care...buy me shaved ice, anything."  Yusuke notes the beads of sweat pooling at the meeting of his shoulder blades.  Without a fan, much less the luxury of air conditioning, his makeshift studio is more like a furnace.  Ryuji seems especially susceptible to the heat. 

 

"I was under the impression I did not owe you anything." 

 

Ryuji tenses.  "I know," he mutters, "fine."  Despite Yusuke's strict guidelines, Ryuji breaks his pose by bending his shoulders backwards, in defeat.  He flattens out his posture again, going back to the initial pose.  "Can we get some cold soba after this?  This is killing me." 

 

A dish like that, even from a food truck, could run him at least eight hundred yen.  "I can't afford that," he admits shyly, this time forcing himself to pay attention to his painting and not their conversation.  For once he feels the need to finish his canvas quickly, dragging hurried strokes down the length of his back. 

 

"I can help out, don't worry about it." 

 

Yusuke's hand stills, composing himself, and recovers his painting.  "If you will have me," Yusuke says quietly.  Despite the apparent urgency in Ryuji's plea, Yusuke can't help but get lost in the small details of his painting during the final minutes of his hour-long study. 

  

* * *

 

Ryuji's posture is poor, Yusuke is aware, but he hasn't taken the time to commit it fully to memory yet.  The past few times he's drawn his gesture, in simple lines and flow, Ryuji surprises him with his flexibility.  He's rarely with Ryuji outside of his studio, to learn his more creature habits.  It's a shame he left his sketchbook at his dorm. 

 

"So," Ryuji starts, sitting them down on bar stools in front of the main counter.  The rest of the restaurant is bustling with fanfare, tables on the main dining floor filled to the brim, and suggests the wait time for their meal will be at least twenty minutes.  Yusuke waits for the rest of Ryuji's conversation, but it doesn't come. 

 

He doesn't know what to talk about.  He wishes he had his sketchbook. 

 

"When are we gonna...uh.  When am I gonna help with your art again?"  Ryuji taps his fingers on the counter, slouched, with his other hand cradling his face. 

 

Yusuke considers the schedule he had made for himself.  After a bout of painting, he usually likes to switch mediums; return to conté and newsprint.  Briefly he thinks about Ryuji's slouched shoulders and curved spine. 

 

"I'd like to draw you again today," Yusuke says in earnest, wishing he had some kind of pen and napkin to draw on, fixating on the crumpled figure beside him – just the snake of his spine, arms outstretched, legs withdrawing behind the stool's own. 

 

He doesn't notice the face Ryuji is making until after he's assessed his form.  A frown – quite simply, he is unhappy.  It's easy to spell out the emotion from his eyes. 

 

"I mean...I got things to do, too..."  Ryuji sighs, still cradling his head in his hands.  Yusuke tears his gaze away, focusing on the chipped wood of the counter instead.  After a long pause, Ryuji is sighing again, straightening his back.  "'S not really true, I was lying.  Just didn't think I'd spend a whole day of vacation alone with a guy.  No offense." 

 

"None taken," Yusuke says quickly, almost cutting him off.  He must have come on too strong.  The atmosphere in the crammed restaurant becomes unbearable much too quickly, before their respective meals are even ready.  There's too many people; constant chatter and laughter, conversations that have no ending or beginning. 

 

Ryuji collapses back onto the counter.  "Sorry," he says, muffled by his arms closing around him, "I was being a dick.  I'm just tired...n' hungry."  He stays like that until their meal is served, to which Ryuji merges their bill, and pays for the two of them. 

 

Yusuke can't remember the last time he's had food like this, that wasn't from a cup or package; a serving size he had only seen in television.  Ryuji is quick to break his chopsticks and eat, while Yusuke stares at the cold soba noodles in front of him. 

 

"Hey, it's on me, so you better eat all of it, okay?"  Ryuji seems displeased, taking some extra garnish from his plate to top off Yusuke's own.  "Eat up." 

 

* * *

  

The sunset casts a pleasant stream of pink and orange on Ryuji's heated skin, standing languidly at the foot of Yusuke's bed.  This time he's able to capture his slouch, bend his wrist to his curvature. 

 

"Is this really what you want?"  Ryuji asks with trepidation.  "I mean I can do...all kinds of shit.  Stretch all over the place." 

 

"This is precisely what I want," Yusuke replies, cramming in another thirty-second pose before flipping to another fresh sheet of newsprint.  He's already been through several pages.  "I want to draw you." 

 

"Uh...okay.  Whatever floats your boat 'n all." 

 

It's not long before the departure of the sun casts his dorm in a blue shadow, and Ryuji calls it a day.  He goes through the pad of newsprint, marveling at all of the figures crammed into every inch.  He doesn't know why it makes his cheeks feel warm, gaining Ryuji's approval.  He didn't want approval from models, or spectators.  Again he feels like he must owe something to Ryuji, but he's doesn't know what to give him in exchange for his kindness.  

   

* * *

 

When Ryuji shows up to his dorm the following day, he's carrying two grocery bags.  He cites that Yusuke doesn't have any snacks in his dorm (he doesn't) and that Kosei is too secluded for much of a restaurant scene (it is). 

 

Once he became more accustomed to Yusuke's dorm, Ryuji finds himself dismayed at the lack of amenities littering his small room.  He wonders if Ryuji pities him, bringing food and his presence for him out of charity.  He is equally dismayed to learn he does not have any friends at Kosei, who could spare Ryuji the trip of coming over every day to model for him. 

 

Ryuji's demeanor is much softer than it was at the soba restaurant.  He barely picks at any of the snacks he brought over, and leaves them for Yusuke to keep. 

 

Yusuke sketches his relaxed, imperfect slouch, moving his elbow to the rhythm of his figure.  For longer, two-minute reps, he strokes quickly to capture Ryuji's short hair.  It's entirely unnecessary, and distracts from the actual focus of the study. 

 

* * *

  

He assumes Ryuji is acting like a mother. 

 

 _Did you eat yet?_   _Wanna_ _grab something?_  

 

He asks that without fail, every time he sees him.  He wonders what Ryuji's mother must be like, when she calls him late in the evening while he's still in Yusuke's dorm. 

 

 _I'm just at Yusuke's again.  Yeah.  Yeah, I know...okay.  I'm sorry.  I'll be home soon.  Love you, too._  

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Yusuke retires to his desk, and takes out his sketchbook. 

 

He begins with a loose, C-curve, tilting upward at the end for the beginning of his neck.  Languid, loose; broad shoulders, sharp jaw – classically handsome, if not for his large, warm eyes.  He knew the forms, the construction of the face, but he rarely drew portraits. 

 

He knew what he was missing.  Technical skill had only gotten him so far.  It feels comical, the moral like something out of a children's cartoon.  He laughs, alone in his room.  He didn't know what a child's whimsy felt like.  What right did he have to scoff at it? 

 

It was frustrating, knowing what he was missing, realizing it after all this time.  It was unfathomably more frustrating knowing he couldn't fix it – when he said the wrong things, when he couldn't read the mood.  When he couldn't just be normal. 

 

"Am I really so pitiable?"  Yusuke asks of the portrait in front of him, graphite-scrawled eyes casting off permanently, unable to meet his gaze.   

 

* * *

 

Futaba and Akira manage to wrangle the two of them down for an afternoon at Leblanc.  Unsurprisingly, Ann has other commitments, and Makoto and Haru are busy with studying for university entrance exams.   

 

Much too quickly, before Yusuke has time to admire the portrait of his mother beside the counter, the quartet make their way to Leblanc's attic.  The floor is scattered with wires and cords, wrappers and litter, and an assortment of picture books. 

 

"Hey," Ryuji says, stopping abruptly in front of Yusuke.  He bends down to pick up one of the books.  "I didn't know you read this."  He lifts the book up to both Akira and Futaba. 

 

"Yeah!  I just got the newest volume," she beams, crawling over Akira's bed to where a large stack of books were placed by his bedside.  Futaba plucks a book from the assortment, and presents it proudly in front of Yusuke.  "Behold, inari.  What do you think?" 

 

"Of what?"  He asks, taking in the colourful cover and centre-fold. 

 

Futaba pouts.  "Of the art!  It's nice, right?" 

 

He doesn't know what to say.  The art is too stylized to judge its merit. 

 

"Y'know he's not really into that kinda stuff," he hears Ryuji beside him, perhaps saving him for making up an explanation on the spot.  Yusuke finds himself retreating beside Ryuji, taking a spot beside him on Akira's bed.  Futaba and Akira settle on the floor where the pair take a controller each, and play some kind of decades-old video game.  It does not spur Yusuke's interest. 

 

Ryuji watches with a bemused smile on his face.  Yusuke wishes he had brought his sketchbook.  He would even settle for drawing in his palm at this point.  Their proximity is too close for Yusuke to observe his expression without being obvious, however.  He sits with his hands on his knees beside Ryuji, listening to the sound of his laughter. 

 

"Jeez," Ryuji chides, "you guys suck at this game." 

 

Futaba is indignant; Akira, less so.   

 

"You try if you're so good at it!"  Futaba quips, flinging the controller in Ryuji's direction.  He recoils instinctively, his movements much larger with his whimsy and laughter, and knocks both himself and Yusuke back onto the bed.  The fumble makes the blond erupt in even more laughter, arm pinning Yusuke down with him.  To make matters worse, Futaba pounces on the pair of them, taking a worn pillow to swat at Ryuji.  Yusuke manages to untangle himself from Ryuji while the hacker sets her sights on him. 

 

"Hey, hey!  I get it already!"  Ryuji is barely coherent in between his giggling. 

 

"Too bad!"  Futaba is relentless.  "Inari, help hold him down!" 

 

Yusuke's fingers twitch at the command, but work against Futaba, to pull Ryuji up and into his lap.  He's too heavy to drag for very long.  His shirt hikes up at his manhandling, revealing a sliver of sun-kissed skin above his brightly-coloured underwear. 

 

"Huh, no fun," Futaba mumbles, rolling off the bed.  "When did you guys start teaming up?  That's seriously unfair." 

 

"Ryuji was simply assessing your performance..."  Yusuke finds himself rebutting.  To his satisfaction, it earns a hearty bout of laughter from Ryuji, and a quiet chuckle from Akira.  Ryuji crawls out of his lap soon after.  Yusuke misses the feeling of his heavy weight pressed onto him. 

 

Yusuke does not miss his sketchbook and pen for the rest of the afternoon. 


	2. Chapter 2

What to do. 

 

Ryuji is busy for once, helping his mother, the explanation curt and hasty.  His studio feels stuffy for a myriad of reasons, but the summer heat is low on the list.  The underpainting of a new project sits helplessly against a wall, waiting for its wetness to dry.  With no model for the day, he has little else to do in the way of studies. 

 

Of course, he could paint something else without the need of a reference.  Yusuke fidgets on his bed, his fingers tingling with inspiration.  It's Ryuji again.  He wonders if he'll tire of it soon, needing to scrawl Ryuji's portrait into his personal sketchbook nigh daily. 

 

Simply, Yusuke considers, he has found a muse.  He thinks of himself as reaching another pillar of enlightenment, matching soul to his skill.  It's a little funny.  Often Yusuke would go out searching for his inspiration, chasing it.  Now, for a lack of a better term, it has found its place in his lap. 

 

Front-facing, his kilter a tad unbalanced, Yusuke plans the shapes of his face.  The corners of his mouth curl upward into a soft smile. 

 

He wonders how many times his mother must have drawn him before painting her eternal masterpiece. 

 

* * *

 

The following day, the bags Ryuji brings over double in size and weight. 

 

"I...uh," Ryuji sputters nervously, seemingly embarrassed, "these are from my mom." 

 

Yusuke considers the bags clinging to his fingers, outlines of containers poking out of the thin plastic.  He quickly relieves Ryuji of the weight, taking two bags off his hands.  "What is it?" 

 

"Um."  He's hesitant.  "Her cooking."  Familiarity with Yusuke's dorm now carries Ryuji to his small refrigerator, placing the bags down at the foot of it.  "She kinda...grilled me on where all my money's been going." 

 

He feels a pang of guilt. 

 

"She's not mad or anything!"  His guilt must be ridden all over his face for Ryuji to reassure him this quickly.  "She's just kinda...worried about you.  I guess." 

 

The feeling plants in his stomach, the warmth spreading to his chest.  A mother's sympathies.  "I see," Yusuke finds no other words to articulate himself.  He kneels to the floor to inspect the clear containers and tins:  rice, curries, stir-fry.  Plenty of meals for the remainder of the week.  "Please tell her she has my deepest gratitude." 

 

"You can tell her yourself," Ryuji is grinning beside him, "she wants you to come over for dinner." 

 

He should not feel as anxious as he does.  Yusuke had thought about his mother a dozen times.  His vicarious daydreaming would be painted all over his face upon meeting her.  Ryuji is already finished shelving all of his mother's cooking, even the bags under Yusuke's fingers.  He's sitting up and reclining on Yusuke's bed before Yusuke can even think of a way to refuse the offer. 

 

He could do this. 

 

Ryuji's carefree laze around his bed is something he wants to capture immediately.  "Please stay like that," Yusuke instructs, and weeks of modelling has Ryuji understanding he mustn't move an inch.  He reaches for his sketchbook instead of newsprint pad, a mechanical pencil instead of conté.  It's a quick gesture; just his head tilted to the side, arms stretched comfortably over his head due to his fatigue.  The pencil has less glide than the crayon, but the curves and lines are more concise.  He knows Ryuji's body like the back of his hand. 

 

Once the usual time allowance has been met, Ryuji rolls over onto his stomach.  His spine dips with his stretch, causing his hips and bottom to be more pronounced.  This is another pose he'd like to draw, but for reasons unbecoming of his education.  "So this time I can just pose on your bed?  Can I?"  He seems worn out.  There were a lot of containers for him to carry all the way to Kosei. 

 

"If you would like to lay down for this session, I would ask you lay on the floor." 

 

Ryuji is pouting.  He is rather cute, despite his more handsome inclination.  Like a child, he drags himself off the bed and crawls over to lie in the middle of his dorm.  He closes his eyes, raking his fingers through his short, blond hair. 

 

Yusuke shuffles through his stack of newsprint pads before joining Ryuji on the floor. 

 

"Do I have to take my clothes off?"  Ryuji asks. 

 

"This is all right," Yusuke says; he did not want to draw Ryuji for the purpose of studying a body.  "Recline as much as you would like...I am not looking for a particular pose." 

 

Ryuji hums in agreement, running a hand underneath his tank top.  He looks close to falling asleep, eyes fluttering to a close as his body twists in relief.  Yusuke is good about keeping the time limit in his head, but he feels the need to reach for his phone, and input a manual timer.   

 

The timer dings abruptly, and Ryuji shifts from lying on his back, to his side.  In front of Yusuke, hand cradling his face, with a smile.  The intimacy tugs at Yusuke.  "What is it?"  He asks, forcing his voice flat. 

 

"I dunno," Ryuji looks sheepish, "I guess when you would draw me before, I felt like I was living out my track days."  Yusuke is not exactly familiar with it, only with how it ended.  "Maybe I was trying to impress you.  It sounds stupid when I put it like that..."  He laughs.  It's soft.   "But now it's different.  I can just be me, you know?  And be comfortable with it." 

 

Admittedly, he did not quite understand what Ryuji had meant.  Something in him ached, begging him to ask Ryuji to articulate, but it feels inappropriate.  "I see," Yusuke lies, pleased with the broader smile it elicits from Ryuji.  "I enjoy drawing you for 'how you are', as well."  That was sincere.  In turn, Ryuji's smile extends into a bright grin. 

 

If he had to meet Ryuji's mother tonight, so be it.  It was only because he was so drawn to both of them, their kindness, the inspiration he had been chasing for so long. 

 

* * *

 

Ryuji's apartment is small.  His mother is not present. 

 

"You can make yourself at home," Ryuji says as he kicks off his sneakers, and heads towards the open kitchen.  Yusuke gently removes his loafers, arranging his and Ryuji's more neatly against the wall.  Apart from him, the kitchen sink runs, and Ryuji has an assortment of leafy vegetables beside him.  Curious, considering his distaste for them. 

 

Without his mother greeting them at the door like he expected, Yusuke takes in a long breath.  All he has to do is introduce himself, and let Ryuji do the talking for the both of them.  It would be fine.  He's rescued him in social situations plenty of times before, without prompting.  He takes out his sketchbook and pens to calm himself, drawing the interior in front of him. 

 

Behind him, Ryuji is cutting a stack of vegetables.  He wonders if Ryuji had anything to do with the meals sitting in his fridge back at in his dorm. 

 

"What is your mother like?" 

 

The incessant chopping doesn't miss a heartbeat.  "Nice," Ryuji replies quickly.  "You'll like her."  He already does.  Without catching wind of a father in his life, Yusuke does not ask.  The parallel matches too strongly with Madarame, and he would like nothing else to but forget all of it. 

 

Nice, like Ryuji.  Cares for his wellbeing, with no inkling towards his talents, merit, or worth. 

 

Yusuke's pen stops in his hand, and he closes his sketchbook.  He reclines against the sofa, sinking into its embrace, listening to the sound of Ryuji's cooking behind him. 

 

* * *

 

Meeting Ryuji's mother goes how he had rehearsed in his head; he introduces himself curtly, bowing.  He did not expect her to laugh and pat his head as he stays hunched over.  She compliments his manners, and wonders how her son had managed to find himself in the company of such a polite young man.  His face burns. 

 

"Mama," he was not expecting that, "you're embarrassin' me in front of my friend..." 

 

As expected, Ryuji saves him from another awkward conversation, this time at his own expense.  Yusuke cannot hide the bubble of laughter that creeps upon him, and hides his face in his hands.  His mother relents while Ryuji is still red-faced beside him, and continues where Ryuji had left off with their dinner. 

 

* * *

 

After their shared meal, his mother notes the time.  She offers Yusuke a ride home, but Ryuji is quick to tell her she doesn't have to go through the trouble.  His mother must work long hours; the evidence is clear in her dark circles and weary smile.  Finally she gives in, and tells Yusuke to stay the night – she doesn't want him going home alone at night.  A mother's concern, to the annoyance of their children.  Yusuke does not mind it. 

 

Ryuji is all but ushering his mother to retire to bed, where he closes the blinds and turns off the light.  The two of them return to their earlier state, alone together.  Ryuji joins Yusuke where he sits on the sofa, but says nothing as he takes out his phone. 

 

Time passes, with the two of them there together, sharing a comfortable silence.  Yusuke turns to open his sketchbook, to finish his earlier interior study. 

 

"Can I see?"  He asks, eyes pointing to his sketchbook.  It was the first time in a long while he wanted to see the fruits of his labour.  However, his sketchbook was not his pad of newsprint, and... 

 

"It is my personal sketchbook," Yusuke states, hoping Ryuji would take the hint.  He doesn't.  Yusuke argues with himself that they were just portraits, loose gestures of him off-the-hook.  Ryuji did not know the intent behind it, the passion. 

 

Passion, is that what he was calling it now? 

 

Ryuji gently takes the sketchbook from Yusuke's slackened grip, flipping through it with delicacy.  It does not seem to bother him greatly that each page is dedicated to him.  Perhaps he is used to it, with poses nearing thousands in his practice newsprint pad.  Despite his earlier fear, he wishes Ryuji would understand. 

 

He had drawn him for all these weeks, thought about him constantly – constantly, constantly... 

 

"You're beautiful," the words slip out before he can catch them.  Ryuji freezes, but keeps his gaze clinging to the sketchbook in his hands. 

 

"You...what..."  Ryuji says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips in disbelief, "do you even get what you're saying...?" 

 

And again, he finds himself back to square one.  His heart aches in his chest, snatching his sketchbook out of Ryuji's hands.  His pens and markers are scattered too haphazardly across the table in front of them; he's made himself too at home here.  Gathering them with his shaking hands gives Ryuji too much time to ask him what he's doing. 

 

"I have upset you," Yusuke deadpans, "with my words."  It always happens.  Always, always, no matter how much he coaches himself.  "I should leave." 

 

Ryuji stills his hands, grabbing his wrist.  "Quiet down a little, my mom's trying to sleep."  He yields, humiliation slowly washing over him, as the pens drop to the table with a sharp clatter.  It doesn't make Ryuji any happier with him.  "The trains aren't going to run this late anymore." 

 

He feels like suffocating. 

 

"I'm not—mad or anything," Ryuji tries to remedy the situation.  "Just...that's something you say to someone you really like...you know?"  Yusuke can't bear to listen to it.  Clearly, he does not see him the same way.  "Like a crush." 

 

The irony is too much to endure.  He understands.  He wasn't so naïve, to not understand why he wanted to see Ryuji every day, to bask in his warmth.  It's almost insulting, infuriating, to think he wouldn't understand. 

 

"Those are my feelings toward you," Yusuke grits his teeth.  He's angry, much too angry to say anything he wouldn't regret.  He needs to stop.  "To someone I really like." 

 

Ryuji is quiet beside him, but still looking at him when Yusuke turns away.  Their understanding of love is incompatible.  He's never felt so angry, desperate, and miserable all at once.  Everything he had tried to overcome keeps crashing down all around him, too many times to count, and reminds him the youth stolen from him was something he could never get back.  His mother, his whimsy.  He could never be normal, feel the right things, to Ryuji's standard. 

 

"It must be so easy for you," Yusuke starts, thinking of Ryuji's mother, and he shouldn't say it, "someone like you, who has only known kindness your entire life." 

 

When he has the courage to meet Ryuji's eyes again, he realizes that he's made Ryuji cry.  Silently, eyes wide. 

 

"Ryuji—" 

 

His vision blurs at Ryuji's sudden hands at his collar, pushing him back down against the arm of the sofa.  "You don't know a  _damned_  thing about me," he growls, quietly, as to not wake his mother.  Because he loves her. 

 

Why had he said it? 

 

Yusuke's eyes sting with his tears, and Ryuji's grip on his collar lessens.  "I want to," he chokes out.  He feels pathetic; lower than that, if it were possible.  "I want to...know everything about you..."  The feelings that he kept inside himself for all these weeks continue to pour out of him.  Ugly, inelegant, in a way no amount of skill and paint on a canvas could ever convey. 

 

Ryuji looks down in confusion, short eyebrows knitting upward.  His eyes are still red and glassy from his tears, his anger. 

 

Humiliation grips him, but Yusuke can't stop.  He hides his face in his hands, fingernails digging above his hairline.  "No one has ever cared for me," his trembling causes his voice to break, "beyond my work."  He sounds like a child.  His embarrassment burns his face hot, tears soaking his palms.  "That it causes me to never leave my studio."  It's like living in a shack all over again.   "I have never felt happier than when I am with you."  He feels pathetic.  Pitiable.  "Is it so wrong to think...I could fall in love with you?" 

 

No response.  Yusuke tentatively pulls his hands away, and Ryuji is still looking at him. 

 

"If you would consider me," his voice still trembles, finding resolve despite the silence, "the way I see you."  All of him, the parts he was embarrassed to show Yusuke.  He had fallen in love with all of him.  Above him Ryuji's tears don't stop, and Yusuke takes to the sides of his face to wipe them.  He was too beautiful to look so anguished. 

 

"Why do you...talk so much..."  Ryuji tries to escape the palms framing his face, but he doesn't get far. 

 

There's nothing else left to say. 

 

"Please fall in love with me."  Yusuke has nothing to give him, after all this time.  He doesn't know what love could mean on a more profound level, the one Ryuji knew. 

 

Yusuke's fingers slip, letting go of Ryuji's face.  The other boy sinks back into the opposite arm of the sofa, like the air had been knocked out of him.  He sits there while Yusuke waits for his response. 

 

"That's a really..."  Ryuji begins, turning his face away, hiding himself, "...fucked up way of telling me you like me." 

 

His profanity is soothing.  Ryuji's expression melts away into something else; he looks sad, if anything.  Yusuke knows his words were not malicious out of ignorance.  He resents himself.  Ryuji scrubs his tears away with the back of his hand, chest still heaving with his emotion.  Yusuke considers him, back still painfully digging into the sofa arm behind him. 

 

He's beautiful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rating to change by next chapter :p


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of wanted this to be more introspective but i just want to write some happy hanky panky with these two. extended this by a chapter. thanks for waiting

The weight on Yusuke's shoulders lift, if only to place itself firmly on Ryuji instead.  He feels dizzy, lightheaded, though in a way he couldn't describe as unpleasant.  Across from him, Ryuji's eyes are downcast, the heaving in his chest beginning to recede after a long minute. 

 

"Do you really mean..."  Ryuji begins, startling Yusuke, "...that you...like...me?  Like-like me?" 

 

"I love you," Yusuke replies quickly, with the same fervor he had only minutes earlier.  Ryuji flinches.  It does not sting as much as he thought it would.  If he had to court Ryuji for his affection, he would do it endlessly. 

 

Ryuji only nods slowly to acknowledge him, finally sliding off the sofa to stand on his feet. 

 

The atmosphere in his living room becomes surreal in an instant.  Yusuke's eyes drag to the fragment of interior he was only sketching moments ago, now alien to him.  Before him, Ryuji is alien to him, his expression unreadable. 

 

Ryuji tiptoes briefly towards the hallway before he turns around, locking eyes with Yusuke, eyebrows furrowed.  "Why're you still sitting there?" 

 

He feels dumb.  "I-I will sleep in the living room," Yusuke stutters, cheeks flooding with heat at the thought of Ryuji inviting him into his bedroom.  His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as Ryuji extends an open hand behind him, waiting for Yusuke to entwine them together. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yusuke has seen Ryuji undress in front of him plenty of times – but not in the confines of Ryuji's small room, silhouetted only by a shy glimmer of moonlight and the idle blinking of his electronics.  His own clothes feel tight and restricting on him as he imagines himself flushed against Ryuji, sharing his narrow bed. 

 

The clothes thrown at Yusuke catch him off-guard, planted squarely into his chest.  "You can use 'em," Ryuji says, turning his back to fit himself into another loose t-shirt.  He doesn't know if Ryuji is still upset with him; Yusuke's outburst caught fire only to wither in seconds, but he can't gauge if Ryuji felt the same.  From what he had seen of him, Yusuke did not observe him to harbour grudges, though it could be a front, and he didn't know much about him at all.  He wishes he did, to soothe him, instead of standing there witless in the darkness of his room. 

 

"Ryuji...we should talk." 

 

He's not good at it. 

 

"I've got nothin' to say," Ryuji replies quickly as his shadowed figure walks by Yusuke to collapse into his bed, rolling towards the walled side.  Yusuke grips the sleepwear in his hands, knuckles white.  "Can't I just be tired?  I'm too tired."  From what he had seen before in the living room, with Ryuji's eyes raw with his tears, it's to be expected. 

 

"Then will you allow me to speak?" 

 

"Aren't you tired of it?"  Ryuji mutters. 

 

"Yes." 

 

It earns a small chuckle, possibly a sign of progress between them. 

 

"Thank you for today," Yusuke says, forcing the waver out of his voice.  To his surprise, it earns a verbal response from Ryuji, who returns his curtsy.  It's not at all what he wanted to say, though the sentiment was still there. 

 

With Ryuji's back turned, Yusuke undresses himself to fit into the other boy's loose clothing, folding his own clothes to put away later.  The cotton is soft, luring him into collapsing into Ryuji's bed.  Yusuke's light-headedness returns as his steps misalign, carrying himself gracelessly to place a hesitant knee into the mattress.  The left side of the bed is cold, but as Yusuke slots himself comfortably, Ryuji's body is exceedingly warm. 

 

His arms have nowhere to rest, though the thought is quickly dismissed as Ryuji turns to face him, keeping his arms tucked against his chest. 

 

"Ryuji...?"  Yusuke sputters, and the intimacy is almost too much to bear. 

 

Yusuke hears a brief groan, followed by feathery hair nestling itself against his jaw.  "I dunno.  Aren't we dating?  I don't know what to do." 

 

If it were possible, Yusuke would think his heart had burst from his chest.  "You would...consider me?" 

 

Another groan.  It would stir a bout of self-consciousness in Yusuke, if he wasn't so confused.   Ryuji continues.  "I thought it was kinda obvious...you're in my bed." 

 

"You must—you must tell me these things, in the simplest of terms," Yusuke says quickly, his words matching the rate of his heartbeat.  Yusuke was not fond of, nor was he good at, reading between the lines.  "Please tell me." 

 

Ryuji's face plants further into the crook of Yusuke's neck.  The tropical scent of his shampoo is something plucked right out of his dreams.  "I...wanna go out with you, too."  His tone is defensive, though he keeps his wording concise, leaving out anything that could be considered inflammatory.  "I like you...too.  Okay?"   
 

   
Yusuke takes a moment to compose himself.  "Okay," he mimics, unable to rid himself of the grin on his face.  A dumb, toothy grin; nothing like the half-smiles his face had seemed to be stuck with.  "Okay," he says again, if only to reassure himself that this was all real. 

 

Ryuji noses into the crook of his shoulder, making himself more comfortable.  His arms are still wedged between them, folded and tucked inward, and Yusuke finds himself wondering what to do with his own gangly pair. 

 

"Ryuji...may I hold you?" 

 

"Do you really need to ask?" 

 

 

* * *

 

 

By early morning, the pair are separated from their embrace.  Due to the size of Ryuji's small bed, they don't get very far.  Yusuke is the first to rise, quietly observing the morning sun streaming through filtered windows.  The light dances upon Ryuji's golden, glittering hair, and it takes a heavy exhale to realize it was a sight he would grow very accustomed to. 

 

Despite his trepidation, Yusuke takes a gentle hand to Ryuji's hair, threading through the locks that were nestled under his jaw only hours ago.  He realizes now how odd it was to only guess its texture, to draw Ryuji nearly a thousand times without knowing how his flesh felt underneath his fingertips.  Last night, when he had wiped away Ryuji's tears, it was the first time he knew how soft he felt. 

 

Ryuji stirs a good minute after Yusuke had taken a palm to his cheek, looking up through his eyelashes, still caught in the throes of a deep slumber.  Even with his eyes half-lidded and glazed, Ryuji still appears to be embarrassed, pulling himself away from Yusuke's touch. 

 

"Good morning," Yusuke says warmly, unaffected.  In fact, he felt nothing but warmth – deep in his chest, despite the chill of the morning air seeping into Ryuji's bedroom. 

 

"G'mornin..."  Ryuji mutters into pillow.  He rolls onto his stomach, loose t-shirt hiking up just above his sweatpants.  A sliver of skin he was used to, but now the sight burns his face red hot.  He doesn't have any time to cool off before Ryuji turns over again, eyes glued shut, hand underneath his shirt as he stretches.  He could wait.  He doesn't need to ask. 

 

In movies, in artwork, he had seen countless displays of affection – the motions of it, of couples lost in each other.  He doesn't know what compels him to take a finger to his own lips when Ryuji catches his gaze, and places the digit to Ryuji's parting lips.  He watches as Ryuji's face flushes with heat, and he finally tears himself from the last bout of his slumber. 

 

He could wait. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Yusuke is washed and dressed, Ryuji's mother had already left for the day.  Leaving him alone, with Ryuji, earlier than any other time the pair had met at Kosei.  Yusuke looks to the scattered pens and his sketchbook he had left the night before.  His gut twists.  Fortunately, his thoughts have no time to fester as Ryuji is already asking him what he'd like for breakfast. 

 

"A-anything," Yusuke sputters, unlike himself.  He's quick to match Ryuji whenever he speaks, and finds himself wondering just how hard he's fallen for the other boy.  "Anything you make would be...lovely." 

 

"Huh...don't count on it," Ryuji says with his back turned, facing his kitchen.  He scratches his scalp, opening his fridge, then freezer, then fridge again.  "Man."  Yusuke takes a tentative step towards him, figuring now would be the best time to learn how to cook, but Ryuji is already heading towards the door.  "There's nothin' really in my fridge.  Gotta buy some stuff for tonight, too," he says as he toes into his sneakers.  "Let's go." 

 

Just like before, Yusuke is tripping over himself to match Ryuji's pace.  His legs and arms are too long to move with any grace at this speed, though he doesn't mind it.  He's made a fool of himself a dozen times by now.  He forgets all of it – last night, the countless nights spent alone in his dorm – when Ryuji extends a hand behind him for Yusuke to entwine their fingers, and he forgets about his pens and sketchbook. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Late morning clears the streets from commuters.  The sidewalks are still lush with businesses opening for the day, freshly picked flowers lining the windows to smaller shops in the area.  Yusuke clears his throat, thinking of the cost for a brightly-coloured bouquet.  The thought slows his pace down considerably, and he loses the grip he had on Ryuji's hand.  The other boy doesn't seem to mind nearly as much, shoving his now free hand into his pockets. 

 

That was fine.  Yusuke did not feel the need to be together so fiercely, claustrophobically; just being by his side was enough.  Though now he was a few steps behind Ryuji, who doesn't appear to be slowing down his stride at all.  He barely seems to remember Yusuke behind him, weaving through small crowds of people down the sidewalk while Yusuke trains his eye to catch Ryuji's hair in the midst of it. 

 

Ryuji finally stops in front of a small patisserie, jamming his hands into his pockets for some loose change.  The aroma of the restaurant entices him, though Yusuke can't shake the feeling that Ryuji is keeping his distance.  He buys the pair of them a small pastry, a black coffee for Yusuke, and continues toward whatever local grocer was his goal. 

 

Several instances of almost losing Ryuji in a crowd has Yusuke grabbing Ryuji by his arm.  "Is something the matter?"  Might as well cut to the chase, play by Ryuji's book – one he wasn't following currently.  Though he wasn't afraid to ask directly, Yusuke still pulls Ryuji away from the street and into a narrow alley, shrouding them in darkness. 

 

Ryuji appears to have many things to say, though he can't decide on where to start.  "Why do I even need to... _girls_  always look at you," he says curtly, "you don't even notice.  Or care." 

 

Jealousy? 

 

"My eyes are only for you," Yusuke says plainly, palm framing Ryuji by the side of his face to lock eyes with him.  Ryuji looks back at him, his expression softening – into something tender, heated, his cheeks coloured scarlet.  The urge to kiss him is irresistible.  

 

Ryuji pushes him away immediately after Yusuke catches his lips.  "Y-you can't do that when we're out, got it?"  Yusuke nods once.  His hands are still at his collar when Ryuji pulls him back down for another kiss, breathing harshly through his nose.  The kiss lasts a second too long, and gives Yusuke enough opportunity to weave his arms about Ryuji's waist, embracing him tightly. 

 

He's shoved away a moment later, like he'd expected.  Ryuji unceremoniously wipes the spit from his chin. 

 

"You can't do that either." 

 

Yusuke nods. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yusuke has never been more grateful to be back at Ryuji's apartment, gently ridding himself of the bags of groceries the pair had been hauling for nearly twenty minutes.  He sighs with relief, shaking out his hands while Ryuji puts away both their share into his kitchen.  He feels guilty for it, but he can't strain his drawing hand by doing any more heavy-lifting.  He's never felt so weary in his life. 

 

By the time he gets to the sofa, Ryuji is already done with the groceries, and settles down beside him.  Where he then, in turn, settles into Yusuke's lap, and gives him an accusatory glance.  The combination is already too much. 

 

"Why're you kissin' me outside for..."  Ryuji's face is red again.  "In some alley.  Isn't our first... _kiss_...supposed to be memorable?" 

 

Yusuke is at a loss.  "I wanted to kiss you.  I wasn't thinking clearly...at the time."  Admittedly Yusuke was not well-versed in the stages of a relationship.  His plans of holding back only hours ago seem to have dissipated in an instant.  He doesn't want to hold back anymore. 

 

"Damn it.  I'm just saying, leave that stuff for...when we're alone," Ryuji closes the gap between the bodies, whispering against Yusuke's ear. 

 

Is he dreaming?  He's not sure.  Ryuji's weight is comfortable, familiar in his lap.  Sitting in his lap because he wants to be there, and – were they about to... 

 

Ryuji is still glaring at him.  Yusuke finds himself losing his fervor. 

 

"I don't know how to do this." 

 

The admission, somehow, seems to lack any shame.  Yusuke looks back to Ryuji in shock, realization dawning on him that the both of them had no experience or inclination to how any of this worked.  He thinks back to when he had kissed Ryuji suddenly, but it was nothing more than their lips crashing together. 

 

Ryuji's expression is pained as he realizes Yusuke isn't offering any ideas. 

 

"Just...shit.  Fine, but close your eyes.  Look at me even once 'n I'll break your fingers, got it?" 

 

The pair seemed close enough that Ryuji knew where to hurt Yusuke the most.  He'll take it.  Yusuke does as he's told, shutting his eyes firmly.  He teeters on the edge of breaking Ryuji's only rule as the other boy hesitates...and hesitates.  His hands move from Yusuke's shoulders, to his chest.  Palms splayed, and digging into the fabric of Yusuke's uniform, Ryuji brushes his lips against Yusuke's.  Soft, only slightly chapped – everything he had already felt before. 

 

"You are far too chaste," Yusuke critiques, unable to see Ryuji's contempt.  "You had more passion when you kissed me in the alley." 

 

"Shut...shut up..."  Ryuji sounds defeated, and Yusuke could only fantasize about the look on his face. 

 

"When you were jealous of some girls we are not affiliated with." 

 

"Shut up!"  Ryuji's hands are at his collar again, but a kiss does not succeed it.  A pity.  "I don't want girls looking at you, why's that so bad?  You're  _my_  boyfriend!" 

 

Yusuke's heart flutters, but it doesn't stop him from teasing.  His eyes are still shut when his fingers slide underneath Ryuji's shirt.  Ryuji shivers, but doesn't pluck Yusuke's fingers off him.  The lines are still familiar, the expanses of muscle he finally gets to prod and push. 

 

His muse, the object of his affection, real and breathing in his arms as his fingers squeeze and scrape along his sides. 

 

"Y-Yusuke..." 

 

Not just the feeling of his skin under his fingers, but his scent, his taste— 

 

"A-ah!  Fuck..." 

 

Salty, just underneath his jaw, where his body twitches and presses tighter into Yusuke.  And still, his eyes are closed when he finds the strength to push Ryuji against the arm of the sofa, towering over his body. 

 

Then, his eyes open, and Ryuji is looking right back. 

 

"Wait, are we really—" 

 

Ryuji lets Yusuke's tongue slide into his mouth, sinking further into the sofa while Yusuke relaxes his weight on top of him.  His moans are soft, pleasant, music to his ears, while Ryuji wraps his arms around Yusuke's neck.  His fingers tangle in Yusuke's silken hair. 

 

He doesn't quite understand what he's doing.  All he wants is to be closer, to feel everything he's been missing for weeks.  Feel Ryuji's arms around him, pulling him closer – because he wants this, too, and wants to be the only one Yusuke will look at.  He's had that all along. 

 

When Yusuke breaks free for air, Ryuji is not the dreamy, breathless mess he would see in movies. 

 

"We just—what the fuck?  You made out with me!" 

 

"Is that not what you wanted?" 

 

Ryuji is pushing them both upright.  "I just wanted.  A damn.  Kiss.  You dumbass!"  His face has gone completely red, the way Yusuke had hoped he did not look like the night before.  Ryuji's hands are in his face.  Yusuke wants to kiss him again. 

 

"Let's just take this slow, okay...?  My mom's not home 'til late." 

**Author's Note:**

> alla prima (italian: at once) is a painting technique, used mostly in oil painting, in which a canvas is completed in only one sitting


End file.
